Failing in Waiting
by BloodDragon
Summary: HD Angst. It's all a waiting game, and everyone's practising. Warning: SLASH. Disclaimer: Not my characters. I make no money doing this at all, either.


Our first date went surprisingly well. He smiled. He'd started to do that a lot more then, ever since we'd got together a week before. We hadn't been certain of what to do, not sure whether we wanted to be open about it. So one day we just sat outside on a patch of grass sheltered by the trees and ate the chocolate frogs we'd hurriedly shoved into our pockets.

I remember him laughing as we talked and joked, his breath warm and chocolatey as we leaned against each other. The sun was shining, making his hair look almost white in places like snow falling amongst silver tears. And his eyes. I saw true joy there, making his eyes twinkle in the sun.

After that we went on a few more semi-dates, being daring and reckless. If anyone saw us, we didn't pay them any attention, and most people walked away without saying anything. It was great.

Until the newspaper people turned up. They hounded us whenever they saw us, even from behind the wards that kept them out. It didn't matter if we were together at the time or not. However, we were safe in Hogwarts, so we explored the grounds together, pretending we were free to go where we pleased, that there weren't living, breathing prison bars in our way.

But then people in school started taking notice as well. They'd noticed before the reporters started making a fuss, of course, but it was the sordid reports in the papers which finally motivated them to actually say anything. Ron and Hermione didn't read the Daily Prophet any more. The last time they did, Hermione looked at me. She seemed a little sad. Ron wouldn't look at me at all.

Now people are avoiding us. A few people glared at us, but I ignored them. Draco and I are strong and we have each other. He got so mad at them all, pacing the room and yelling. I found it rather amusing, since he wasn't shouting at me, per say, so I just sat here quietly while he yelled his thoughts out loud. I think he even swore a few times, which is usually a rarity for him. He eventually decided he was going to find out what was wrong with them, confront them and make them see that we were still the same people they knew before.

Pansies. Poofters. Fairies. Limp-wristed, cock sucking bastards. Fags. Diseased.

In love.

Mrs Weasley sent Ron a letter and he came to talk to me while I was doing my homework. I had been sitting in the library, everyone else at least three chairs away from me. It was kind of draughty in that corner. He went bright red, which wasn't unusual, but he kept stuttering, which _was_ strange for him. He gave up in the end.

I haven't spoken to him since then. I miss my friends. I miss Draco. But he'll be back soon. He'll smirk at me, that Slytherin smirk of his. It used to mean he'd humiliated me in some way. But now it means that he's won. And I'll have won, too.

I hope he doesn't take too much longer. It's cold and I want to go to sleep, but I promised myself I would wait up until he got back. I want to see that smirk and I want to hear what he said to the others. I want to know how they reacted and listen to him laugh as he revels in his victory over them.

Hey, it's snowing! The snow always reminds me of Draco – cold and white on the surface, but with hidden depths that no one dares to reach through the initial burst of pain for.

I think I'll take a little nap. I'll wake up before he gets back. I have the last seventeen times, so I can't be sleeping all that long. I just need a power nap. He'll tease me mercilessly if I fall asleep while he's telling me his story.

"No change?" Ron asked, tired and haggard as he leaned heavily against the doorframe.

Hermione turned to face him, her hand grasping the edge of the door to Harry's room lightly. Sighing sadly and shaking her head, Hermione closed the door quietly and looked down at the floor, staring at it as she tried to blink back the tears which had surfaced again.

"I think he's going to sleep again. Maybe this time he'll get some decent rest."

"So he's not said anything?" Ron asked, bitter hope tangy against his tongue.

Shaking her head again, Hermione remained where she was, too tired to turn around and see her own helplessness reflected in Ron. "He hasn't even moved. He's still lying there, staring out of the window. It started snowing a few moments ago. And he smiled."

Her voice cracked on the last few words. She sniffled lightly, not blinking as she tipped her head back and willed the tears away.

Stumbling a little as he righted himself, Ron made his way towards his friend and laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing encouragingly. It was all he could manage. He swallowed harshly and kept his gaze locked on the back of Hermione's head.

"What are we going to do about the funeral?" Hermione asked quietly, her voice controlled and neutral, yet weak.

"Dumbledore's going to pick us up tomorrow. If ... if Harry wants to come, he can do. But I don't think he will. We should at least go on his behalf."

Hermione nodded, the motion slow and hypnotic. "What about the people who did it?"

"Dumbledore's sorting that out," Ron replied. "Don't worry about it."

"But what if Harry wants to know what happened?" Hermione asked, distraught at the prospect of not knowing exactly what to say should her friend ever ask. She whipped around, dislodging Ron's hand and staring almost desperately into his eyes. "He deserves to know. I don't want to fail him again."

Ron closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath, trying to calm himself and ignore the flare of pain in his chest. "They're going to Azkaban. The Kiss and everything. They'll be rotting in there for a long time."

Ron's head jerked a little, his thoughts completing the sentence silently, _just like Harry in there_, but he resisted the urge to look. He knew it would only upset him more, and then Hermione would get upset and he wouldn't know what to do, and Hermione would turn away from him and he'd be letting her down as badly as they'd let Harry down.

Sighing raggedly, Ron pulled Hermione into a rough hug and ignored the feeling of his robe pressing uncomfortably into his back as her hands fisted themselves in the black material.

"It'll all work out," he muttered, not even listening as he recited the same old litany. How many more times would he have to say it before it came true? "He'll be all right, you'll see."

Hermione closed her eyes tightly and used Ron to shield herself from the light. She knew they were in for a long, painful wait. And she couldn't help but feel guilty for thinking that it would have been so much better if Harry had been with Draco when he was ambushed on his way to the Great Hall. Who needed Death Eaters when there were people equally as prejudiced in the world posing as innocent students?

She remembered the hateful words Harry and Draco had had to endure, abandoned by their friends because of fear and the selfish urge to remain in the good graces of the little-minded people who made up the public. She remembered and she was determined to sit by Harry and hold his hand while he waited.

She was not going to fail him again.


End file.
